


It's Up to Me and You

by Steamcraft



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, Challenge Response, M/M, Modern Era, Post Series End, Website: Heart of Camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamcraft/pseuds/Steamcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First thing's first: I will save me to save you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Up to Me and You

Merlin was waiting for him with a bath blanket and a change of clothes.

Arthur avoided the clothes as long as possible.

-

The first month Arthur refused to leave his bedroom. He threw out the alarm clock, broke the lamp, made useless his shoes by ripping out the shoelaces, and suffered the summer heat by keeping the fan off. Arthur wouldn't eat pizza, chips or burgers, or frozen meals, and he wouldn't drink the local ale. Merlin didn't remember cooking so much in this century than what Arthur was having him do in a month.

But as much as the plumbing and electricity set Arthur on edge - frightened him, really - Merlin wouldn't settle with his king screaming all manly-like at the flush of a loo.

He dragged Arthur in the bathroom by the arm and stood Albion's Once and Future King in front of the mirror. There were dark circles underneath both their eyes, the coping and support, and while Merlin wore his casual clothes, Arthur was clad in something that was possibly only theatre costume.

Arthur had more than just a stubbly scruff on his face. Merlin reached over and tugged on it slightly while Arthur batted at him.

"To be a man in this time you must learn to shave," Merlin said. "And not stupidly ragged with your hunting dagger, either." He pulled open a drawer between them and withdrew trimming scissors, shaving cream, and a razor.

It was a long moment of silence before Arthur finally leaned closer to the mirror to inspect his short beard and skin. "And no one ever realised I was complete bollocks at it except Guinevere."

A bark of surprised laughter came from Merlin. "The lack of a proper mirror made you seem like a wonder, that's for sure. Several servants approached me asking your secret."

"Your answer?"

"I all but left the majority of the servants admiring your skills with any blade."

Arthur's eyes met his in the mirror. "The majority?"

Merlin grinned. "Well, you know my habits after a drink: long-winded honesty. At least not many believed my gaudy stories." He pushed the shaving things toward him slowly. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need help," the sorcerer said gently, then left Arthur to his own devices with a clap on the shoulder.

-

It took much longer for Arthur to leave the house. He found plumbing to be a blessing after he became used to it, and electricity proved to be a constant, needful requirement to living in this modern era. Lights, coolers (then, by extension, heaters), the refrigerator: it was a whole new, strange and terrifying world, but by God it was luxurious.

Merlin owned a television that he admitted to never using, but hacked cable into in hopes to find Arthur forms of entertainment while he worked. Though Arthur preferred books, he kept it on the news stations to try to understand what was happening in real time. Often, however, he turned it off when disgusted by the events of this age: politics, wars upon wars, civilian crimes, pollution, reaping the Earth of all she had. Arthur didn't need the play-by-play video images when his own imagination supplied him as he read.

Arthur read the history books Merlin brought home and learned a great deal of what happened after his reign. His first crossing with the Arthurian Legends was a literal shock: he was the most remembered king of all time, yet he was considered fictional. The stories were some of the furthest truths, and many clashed and argued with what Arthur was told by Merlin - especially the aftermath of Camelot.

"None of them tell Guinevere's success as queen," Arthur complained one evening. Merlin looked up from his papers on the table and sat back in his chair, an action, an increasingly familiar one, that told Arthur he was going to be patiently explained the world (and all of its short-comings). His eyes were slightly sunken and weary; Arthur had heard Merlin wandering around the house late in the night for the third time that week.

"While your morals held, as time went on, it was not a popular idea for women to rule. Men obscured it not shortly after her passing, told stories where you lived to be as old as your father, instead."

A huff, "That's ignorant. Didn't you say anything?"

Merlin shrugged. "I tried, in the beginning. Wrote a couple books on the true stories of Camelot, right to the fall of King Leon, a century later when the retellings started. Its hard to change the minds of men, stubborn as they can be; I was dismissed as a fool. I'd hidden after Camelot was taken, and eventually forgotten. Even my fictional-self in the legends was altered and perversed in some ways, born of a demon," he scoffed. A sad expression filled his face. "They didn't remember the things worth mentioning, or find them important..."

Arthur could hear it in his voice, and not just Guinevere's absence after Arthur's death, but for Gaius, Elyan, Leon, and maybe for those who Arthur never really knew but sacrificed themselves for Arthur's cause. It made his breath catch, the sudden weight of it, finally understanding how he was made a legend. Its sort of too much, because he had wanted to make a better kingdom, a better Albion. He just didn't expect the whole world to be involved and be affected 2,000 years later.

Arthur pushed off against the wall he had taken to leaning on, running a hand through his hair. "I need some air," he said decisively, certain in crossing this next milestone. He didn't look back at Merlin, whose eyes he felt between his shoulder blades as he went to the door. His hand shook as he reached and hovered over the knob.

It was a completely different world out there from what he had known Albion to be, Arthur reasoned. With the violence and sickness, he was right to be nervous, because he read the science books that Merlin brought home, too; would've his sleep in Avalon prepared his immunity from what evolution had already done over the two millenniums? 

Would people look at him and see a man who died, a once king, see a sign that screamed, "I'M REAL!" Could he join in the crowd and the noise and not be overwhelmed by the towering buildings, smells, and hard concrete rather than soft, dirt paths?

Arthur didn't handle failure well, this was going to be one huge mistake, there were weapons quicker than a crossbow's bolts, and there was--

There was Merlin's hand carefully touching his, encouraging it to drop on the handle with little pushes. Arthur looked at him, lips drawn in a tight line.

Merlin smiled back, slightly teasing. "I'm not going to stay here and watch you lose your shite at some poor, unsuspecting civilian. I know it's hard for you to understand how I feel, but..." Arthur was laughing, the sudden relief making his stomach feel weightless and head dizzy. "Well, I get along with my neighbors, and I'm not going to let you mess that up for me."

He bumped his shoulder against the sorcerer's. "I'm glad you're here, Merlin." Their hands turn the doorknob and after staying inside for nearly six months, the sun was blinding and warm on Arthur's skin, just like Merlin's bright smiles.

-

The next week, Arthur allowed Merlin to take him clothes shopping, which was a relief for Merlin's frenzied searching (honestly, it was _difficult_ to find era clothing of the "right material", as Arthur said he wanted, let him go to a costume store by himself next time (also, if he was to complain, Arthur wouldn't accept his laundry if it smelled "like a girl", so Merlin was forced to purchase organic, scentless soap that made his skin itch from the lack of softener)).

Arthur, however, was still practically a nightmare to leave the house with. Merlin found he was paranoid from little dogs, car horns, street merchants, _traffic_... The king wouldn't set foot in a vehicle; a ten minute drive turned to an hour walk into town, which normally wouldn't even phase Merlin, unless they were carrying home perishable groceries.

Yet however cautious the ancient king was of the already-fragile world around him, Arthur showed an insatiable curiosity that grew with each outing. Merlin found himself explaining things to Arthur that children observed around them and made their own conclusions: Why go to a theater when the film was to be made into something television-compatible; What was the use of listening to a music player when surrounded by people talking to you; Who thought to make paper money when it could be easily damaged; When did unicorns become extinct?

Merlin answered all he could with a limitless patience. It was much like the students he had over the centuries, teaching them the pulse of the Earth and how to harness their natural abilities. They all had questions about the life around them, and lived much like how Arthur was living now: outside the box, feeling like a spectator, not stepping into the world and using the resources unless necessary.

"Merlin?"

The immortal sorcerer was drawn out of his thoughts, and the outfit he'd been holding for at least ten minutes while Arthur was in the changing room was placed back on its rack. He turned to his friend, expecting to tell him to try again, like the pass four jeans Arthur tried to wriggle into, but the words forgot how to make syllables on his tongue.

The dark blue jeans he wore were heavy denim, comfortingly fitting around his thighs, and fell in a straight leg-style to just below his ankles.

"Let me see the waist of it," Merlin said with a bit of mirth as he stepped forward. Arthur lifted the plain white T and made a show of turning. He wasn't sucking in his stomach, and Merlin jerked on the waistband to make sure it wasn't too loose or tight.

Merlin nodded his approval. "Alright, those are good. That's your size. Find five more you like in different colors or styles so you can have a change of clothes when you get backed up in your laundry."

Arthur let his shirt fall back into place. "My laundry?"

"I understand you were going through your early midlife-crisis, but don't be expecting me doing your laundry for you this day forth. You pick your clothes, you clean them." Merlin smirked. "We'll tackle basic household chores tomorrow."

Oh, that was definitely a pout on his face. "Can't you just... magic it clean?"

"I could if it was acceptable for you to live like arrogantly ignorant royalty in this day of age," Merlin teased. "It won't be the hardest battle you've yet faced now, Arthur. No need to look like that."

"I won't have to use that horrible sucking tool, will I?"

Maybe he was having too much fun teaching Arthur, but he wasn't going to torture the poor man with his sworn enemy, The Hoover. "Not this time, my friend," he sighed dramatically, and Arthur shoved him in front of a shopping cart with a laugh. "Ahh!"

-

It'd been nearly a year and a half since Arthur's return, and the man had quickly fallen into a sensible life. He understood most things now, and whatever he fell short on was an easy search on Merlin's laptop (given, however, that Merlin had to magically repair it multiple times when the viruses were being tricky. Arthur wouldn't tell him what sites he went to, but the add-ons were self-explanatory).

When Merlin went to work (he owned a pharmacy of alternative medical cures, most of which were enhanced magically), Arthur would stay at home and keep the house clean, make dinner, and read his books while listening to the news. It didn't scare him anymore to hear about the worldly problems; he sympathized. As a solider, he understood the grave importance of the battlefront, and the death count didn't shake him any longer; the King just felt saddened. He'd been able to make peace with the kingdoms he had most anger for, he'd set aside his hurt and made a treaties because it kept the peace for their people and the land in between. He hadn't thrown away his pride or his ambitions to achieve these things; would it be too much for the leaders to think about the solider's lives, the thousands they had to care for?

Arthur had moved on from history to literature and languages; it had taken a couple months for him to realise that Merlin had cast a spell on him so modern English and Welsh wouldn't be a barrier. He began a self-study and nearly had English figured out with the help of the Latin he'd known, and a lot of Merlin's tutoring on the side. After he'd gotten those down, he switched to his least favorite subject: math. There were many breaks in this block.

It was during one of these breaks he was feeling particularly restless. Needing to move, needing fresh air, needing something that didn't involve being coped up at home. Merlin would be coming home from lunch so the pair of them could pick up from a take out. They would be driving.

Driving, like electricity, had become a necessary evil that was evolving into something that was just everyday life in this time. The tube was about the same, only Arthur closed his eyes once they start moving.

An acrid smell pulled Arthur from his thoughts. He looked around himself, racking his brain if he put anything on the stove, until a breeze pushed through the open window and filled the room with smoke. An elderly woman and her grandson lived next door.

Arthur ran down the stairs and out the door. Smoke was pillowing from the top floor windows, and then... Fire engulfed the roof with surprising speed. He didn't think, running to the house, and kicking the front door open. He lifted his shirt above his nose.

"Hello?!" He yelled, squinting through the hazy living room.

There was a muffled reply from the stairs and a dog bark, and he followed the sounds. He ducked his head as he climbed, and on the top step was the woman on her back, dress scorched and unconscious, the late teen frantic and pulling on his grandmother weakly. Arthur figured he'd inhaled a lot of smoke.

The tiny dog leapt forward at his approach and barked as he reached to help the kid.

"Pepper, settle," the boy said. The dog subsided, and Arthur pulled the woman up from underneath her arms, then picked her up in his arms. He looked back down at the grandson.

"Can you make it?"

The boy looked up him through the haze, blinking back the tears. His mouth fell open in an awe. "King Arthur....?" Arthur stared, said nothing, but the teen shook his head, nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'll grab Pepper."

They made it down the stairs, the living room completely filled with smoke. Arthur didn't register the heat or dryness, but his lungs burned, and his ears hyper aware of the crackling fire on the second level. The front door was still open, and the sunlight streamed in like light through fog.

A large silhouette filled the doorway, calling out, "Anyone here!"

"Here," Arthur coughed, and the firemen piled in and helped the group outside safely, taking the elderly woman from him while another hoisted the teen over his shoulder. Arthur was being lead by the arm, and in the clean air he hacked his lungs out.

"Arthur-- Arthur!" The king had hardly settled on the ground when his sorcerer collapsed in front of him, inspecting him, turning his head left and right, checking his pulse--

"Alright already," he groused, catching Merlin's hands in his. "I'm fine." Merlin's eyes were wide and frantic, searching his own for sincerity, and the only thing Arthur could think of doing is run his thumbs over Merlin's knuckles soothingly.

Seeming satisfied, Merlin sighed and rested against him. "We're getting you a mobile." When Arthur didn't say anything, the dark haired male sighed, "I was out here for two minutes. I could have done something, it could have been small. But-- Christ, _Arthur_ ," he said, voice thick, and Arthur felt his hands shake. "I didn't think, I was scared, my magic--"

Arthur watched him, seeing the adrenaline and desperation and deep-seated fear of losing him again. The night frights Arthur kept waking to made a lot more sense. He bent forward, resting his head against Merlin's.

"I'm here. I'm right here, Merlin." His hands tightened on the sorcerer's, and his lips pressed against Merlin's temple, his cheek, his lips.

He was there, and nowhere else.

-

"Merlin?"

Merlin's eyes snapped open and he looked at his assistant. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry." He ignored her questioning expression, glancing at the clock. Simultaneously, Merlin's phone vibrated at a new text. He opened it.

**Arthur:  
laaazy day. i want food. i want you. come make me dinner.**

Merlin let out a loud laugh, stomach fluttering, and gave his assistant an apologetic smile. "Sorry, just--"

"Arthur?" she guessed, knowingly. She was one of special few in life, the sort that had a deeper perspective - a sixth sense. She knew Merlin was _the_ Merlin, and she felt Arthur's return when the Earth celebrated.

He nodded as he texted back:

**Leftovers or leftovers?**

**Arthur:  
neither. just come home soon.**

Everyday, Merlin watched the clock, willing time to quicken. It still felt surreal, even after nearly two years: Arthur had returned! Thinking of it wrenched unbelievable happiness from him to this day, but also a gut-searing agony: how long did Arthur have of this leisurely time before Albion's trouble made itself known, and after they'd conquered that... then what? Was Arthur to sink back into Avalon, or will he grow old and die again? Merlin couldn't bare the thought, waiting so long for his king, he'd lose his mind if he had to watch Arthur wither.

Nightmares plagued him of the years spent in solitude, the centuries passed at the lake shore. When he woke, Merlin was blown away with a bone-deep agony that tore into him, that he was alone and will continue to be alone until Arthur rose again, until he heard puttering noises around the house that reminded him that that time has passed. That Arthur was alive. That he was not waiting in vain. That he finally had a companionship that allowed him to be who he was completely. These moments would pass with a shuddering exhale and a great wash of relief before Merlin rushed down the stairs to see with his eyes that Arthur was there.

That night after getting home and making dinner (leftovers, after all) proved to be no different.

Merlin awoke with shout, hairline sweaty and tears threatening to fall. The dream - the memories - it was too much, he wasn't going to make it much longer than he has already. The years stabbed at him, and he'd already fought insanity once before. Merlin willed his pulse to steady, but couldn't stop the oncoming hyperventilation, the fear that Arthur was truly gone for good. He fingers numbed as he gripped the bed-sheets, and a loud, frustrated cry tore from his throat.

His magic lashed out and threw the lamp across the room where it shattered against the wall.

" _Merlin? MERLIN!_ " Arthur banged on the doors, and they suddenly opened from Merlin's wild magic, and the sorcerer launched himself out of bed and practically tackled his king.

"I need- _Arthur_ , please--" He tangled his hands in Arthur's nightshirt, panting in his neck. Arthur's arms came around him tightly. "Don't go, don't-- please don't leave me, Arthur, please-- I need you, I can't- I _can't do this alone_ -"

-

Merlin was absolutely determined to avoid looking at Arthur the next morning. After they descended the stairs together for breakfast, last night didn't exist. Arthur hadn't been able to get a single word from him about his frights, didn't understand the depth of the situation that caused Merlin's nightly panic attacks.

He watched him over the rim of his mug as he flipped the pancakes, his shoulders stiff under Arthur's gaze.

"So," Arthur started after he set his coffee down, "We're just going to ignore it, then?"

"Trying to, yeah," Merlin replied tersely.

After that, the silence stretched and became a prickly atmosphere between them. Merlin ate standing at the counter, focusing on his plate, while Arthur refused to look at anything else than the bottled-up man before him. To his credit, Merlin didn't waver under the stare.

Then:

"I got to --"

"Surely you met other people in your life."

Merlin halted, becoming utterly still. A couple quiet seconds nearly made Arthur regret not letting it drop, but it was an innocent question enough. Slowly, Merlin moved again, and finally looked at Arthur with anger in his eyes.

"Most of the people I met never knew me, but it was hard still to let them go. I loved many of them, and some even returned my feelings, but I couldn't give them what they wanted: devotion." Arthur felt a chill run down his spine at the word, knowing now it was himself that kept Merlin from being honestly happy in his long, lonely life. 

"Those who saw who I was were harder to shake. They made me believe it was okay to delude them, but in the end it was an emotional abuse I couldn't stand giving. Don't get me wrong, Arthur," Merlin sighed, "I would wait for you forever, whatever the cost; I just don't want to be spending the next couple lifetimes wishing I'd said I love you that last time. _I tied myself down._ I tied myself with unspoken feelings to you, and I refused to lead those people along when I was--"

Arthur watched the Adam's apple bob as Merlin stumbled, and his heart was in his throat.

"Am," Merlin corrected quietly, "in love with you." He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat loudly. "Right. I need to get going or the shop will open late."

"Merlin-"

"Arthur-" he tried to interrupt.

Merlin's mobile rang shrilly from upstairs, and the both of them stopped trying to talk over the other. Arthur didn't realise he had stood from his seat until he slowly sat back down at the conversation lost. Merlin looked from the ceiling to Arthur, and offered a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll be home late tonight; we're doing inventory," he said. Arthur nodded, and Merlin hesitated to leave. The phone rang again and made Merlin's decision for him, and Arthur sighed in the empty room.

He waited for Merlin to come home well into the evening, and it was after midnight when he heard the door close quietly in the silent house. Arthur waited for Merlin to find his bed and fall asleep, and then waited, watching the clock as the hours ticked by, for that first muffled sound of distress. He waited just a moment after, to see if his brave yet breaking sorcerer will drift into a more restful sleep.

Arthur didn't, however, wait a second longer when a whimper followed, and didn't bother to wait after knocking, and didn't think to slide underneath the covers and pull Merlin close to him. His hands didn't wait to run over his head, his back, soothing, and his mouth gently shushed Merlin when he woke with a startling force.

Shivering and sleep-hazed, Merlin's mouth searched his lightly before curling into Arthur's chest, and it was these actions that Arthur swore above everything that he would fight death to stay with Merlin for the rest of eternity.

-

Years later, _years, years_ later, Merlin had long ago left his night frights behind, but still - _always_ \- someone found themselves in a bed that was not their's.

Arthur stopped aging when there was just two grayed hairs on his head. He quit plucking them when they just kept growing back.

The walk along the lake shore was quiet, and the sun shined above them, and the world singed with renewing magic into the land: sorcery was returning steadily with each decade. It was a new time, one Merlin said that was a cross between a step forward and backward at once, but Arthur wasn't truly interested in the development of technology, not even for the centuries he'd been around for.

Last week, the pair saw someone who resembled Percival at the store, only shorter, less muscular. The man looked right through them to read the price on milk. Arthur looked to Merlin, and his sorcerer only shrugged and said, "It happens."

Arthur shifted his hand to where their fingers entwined, and pointed at a crumbling stone with his other hand. "Isn't that where--"

"That horn hasn't been bothered in over five-thousand years," Merlin replied proudly. Arthur laughed, and shoved him lightly.

"Well preserved."

"Like us," Merlin said wisely.

Immortality was a heavy cross, they knew, but it took two.

| - | - | - |


End file.
